


What A Hero Needs

by Elleh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Bath Sex, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 00:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13201611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: “You’re such an idiot, Iwa–chan!” Oikawa’s about to throw Hajime the head of the shower, and although Hajime loves to tease him, he’s well aware of the strength hidden behind his skin. He stops Oikawa’s hand before he breaks the bathroom with the uncontrolled rage of his shame.“Sorry, sorry,” Hajime caresses Oikawa’s wrist with his thumb, the loud beating of his heart a constant drum against Hajime’s fingertip. “You are so powerful in bed you fry my brains. Is that better?” Hajime’s smirking when he says that, but Oikawa only hums softly, leaning towards Hajime as if he couldn’t help himself. “What’s that face for, huh, super powerful hero?”





	What A Hero Needs

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 25, Bath/Shower, from Kinktober 2017! This became a superhero AU, and it might have some follow-up one-shots because I'm weak.

The clock ticks eleven. The sound is so loud on the quiet night Hajime can feel it reverberate through each and every single one of his bones. His knee cracks when his elbows fall on his thighs, his fingers nervously tapping on his chin. Second, second, _second, second_. Hajime has become a clock, his fingers the minute’s needle, his heartbeat the constant tempo filling them.

Eleven fifteen.

Eleven thirty.

Twelve.

Hajime stands up in a single move, the sudden rush of his blood flowing everywhere dizzying him, shadowing his vision with stars and worries and curses he’s bitting down, waiting for the key to turn when he hears it pierce the lock.

“I’m home,” a weak voice comes from the entrance, the pool of light from the outside outlining Oikawa’s shadow on the floor.

Hajime inhales harshly, and a burning feeling of rage and relief waves over him. He can’t move, his legs shaking after spending what feels hours, —what probably _have been_ hours—, of sitting down, waiting while the best of his imagination showed him the worst of scenarios.

“Hey, Iwa–chan,” Oikawa greets him shyly when he enters the room, and the small relief Hajime has managed to breathe when Oikawa entered the house vanishes at the sight of him.

Color drains from Hajime’s face when his eyes, fast and unstoppable, scan every piece of naked skin now decorated in reds and purples and dark greens. Oikawa has his eyes darted down, the tip of his lips pushed downwards. Not yet a grimace, but a rictus of discomfort and pain.

“Have you been—”

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Oikawa flinches at the sudden question, Hajime’s voice loud and heavy on the silent room. Hajime curses himself when Oikawa musters a soft apology and takes himself to the bathroom, the subtle fall of his shoulders, the small limp, the way his arm hangs weirdly tense at his side. Hajime doesn’t need to see him naked to know there’s a pretty map of wounds painted on his body.

But Hajime stays put, because following Oikawa will only end up in him yelling, and Oikawa making himself smaller. Hajime hates being mad, he hates the bitter and sour feeling now filling his mouth and throat. Fear and rage and sadness and those words he’s never been brave enough to say, because they’ll break the fragile balance they’ve managed to stand on in this relationship.

Trying to even his breathing, Hajime puts his hands on his hips and forces his lungs to expand in constant breaths. The unnerving tick of the clock is still filling his mind, and Hajime counts every second Oikawa is in the bathroom licking his wounds, while he’s here, feeling sorry for himself.

It takes fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of Hajime’s mind going through all the scenarios he has pictured Oikawa in, reassuring himself none of them happened, reminding his frozen body of the man on his bathroom, hurt and probably still in pain. Hajime can still hear the sped up beating of his heart on his temples and his ears, but the image of OIkawa alone on the bathroom, bleeding and wounded, finally takes him out of his daze.

Oikawa’s on the bathtub when Hajime finally steps in. The water crashes against the borders, waves of steam dancing from Oikawa’s shoulders and his wet hair. He’s watching his fingers, a dumb duck Hajime bought him three months ago gloomily floating between his chest and his bent knees.

Hajime doesn’t say anything when he enters and kneels on the floor, shoulder brushing the bathtub’s wall. Although not subtle nor silent while moving around, Oikawa keeps his gaze on the water, tainting his hands with the pink reflection of the tiles hiding the reality of his wounds, and ignores Hajime.

A poorly job, really, but Hajime doesn’t have it in him to point it out. His own screamed words are echoing on his mind, fear shaping his actions and turning them into something awful and wrong. The silence is long and heavy, none of them able to speak. The water breaking on the bathtub’s borders sounds lonely, and after long _ticks_ of it, it grows smothering enough for Hajime let his fingers caress the water near Oikawa’s shoulder.

Oikawa shivers in answer.

“Are you mad?” Oikawa asks in a small voice.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were dead, Oikawa,” Hajime says in a flat voice. He’s not sure how he can sound this calm, when there’s a storm raging out inside him. “I thought— We were supposed to meet at seven. At seven. Do you know how long I’ve—” Hajime inhales shakily, trying to calm the pain of his words. “I thought you were dead,” he repeats, and Oikawa sniffs soundly at that.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be this late. I promise.” Oikawa’s eyes raise, and Hajime grimaces at the hazed light in them. “Please, don’t be mad.”

“How can’t I be?” Hajime whispers with fierce, broken and hurt and unable to touch Oikawa any longer, so he brings his hand back to his chest. “Look at you. You are covered in wounds! You’re still bleeding.”

Oikawa hugs himself, Hajime’s words echoing small slaps for both of them. The duck sails through the water. Hajime tears his gaze away.

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa murmurs again, and although Hajime’s not looking at him, he knows there are silent tears on his eyes when he says it.

“I don’t want you to be sorry.” Hajime sighs, a hand on his eyes trying to clean the awful taste of his feelings. “I want you to be okay. Is that so much to ask?”

“I am okay.”

Hajime grunts, dry and short and the only thing he can do to keep himself together. “Of course you’d say that.”

“But I am. I did something good, Iwa–chan,” Oikawa’s voice is still small, but the sharp edge in his words is loud and clear. There’s no regret in Oikawa’s eyes when Hajime, inevitably, lifts his gaze to look at him. “I’m a bit hurt, but I heal fast, and it’s okay.”

“Is it. Because the only thing I see is you getting later and later home, each day beaten worse than the day before, and the news opening every morning with a different story of a vigilante on the run.”

Oikawa does grimace at that. He pouts, the tender flesh of his lower lip red and parted pushed out in as endearing as it is exasperating.

“The news are full of bullshit.”

Hajime sighs deeply. The rage is diluting in his blood, a mix of pride and frustration and something else he’s not ready to put a name to taking the space of his anger.

“The vigilante kicking random people’s ass is the one full of bullshit, if you ask me.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes when he stares at Hajime. There’s a hint of anger on that action, but Hajime can’t enjoy it much because now that he’s facing him, Hajime can see Oikawa’s face is worse than he imagined. His left side has a huge bruise the size of a punch, and Hajime’s mouth fills with bile at the sight of it.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Tooru,” Hajime whispers, suddenly desperate. “I can’t stand seeing you this hurt all the time. I can’t—” Hajime breathes in, trying to calm his racing heart. “You never call when you are—”

“I never know when I—”

“What if you let me come with you.”

Oikawa snorts. “To do what? You have no superpowers.”

“Neither do you.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “I _do_ have a superpower. One would believe my boyfriend would have noticed after six months sharing my bed.”

“ _Your_ bed,” Hajime says with innuendo. “This is _my_ apartment, last time I checked.”

Oikawa wiggles his eyebrows, his grin a hint too dirty for Hajime to not huff at him. It’s almost a painful thing, when Hajime holds himself back from kissing those lips. “If you were implying your superpowers are in bed, I must tell you, you’re deeply wrong.”

“How rude!” The duck hits Hajime’s head, Oikawa’s pout now painting his face with a new shade of red Hajime likes way too much. Oikawa has moved to throw the dumb duck, and now he kneels as if mirroring Hajime’s position, the waves of the water splashing and wetting Hajime’s dressed self. “I do _wonders_ to you!”

“You mean _I_ do wonders to you.” Hajime laughs loudly when Oikawa throws him the shampoo next, a small shriek coming out of his lips. “Superhero, superhero, please save me from giving you the best orgasms of your life.”

“You’re such an idiot, Iwa–chan!” Oikawa’s about to throw Hajime the head of the shower, and although Hajime loves to tease him, he’s well aware of the strength hidden behind his skin. He stops Oikawa’s hand before he breaks the bathroom with the uncontrolled rage of his shame.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hajime caresses Oikawa’s wrist with his thumb, the loud beating of his heart a constant drum against Hajime’s fingertip. “You are so powerful in bed you fry my brains. Is that better?” Hajime’s smirking when he says that, but Oikawa only hums softly, leaning towards Hajime as if he couldn’t help himself. “What’s that face for, huh, super powerful hero?”

Oikawa frowns at the mocking words, and Hajime tries to forget how the bruises on Oikawa’s skin still make his insides burn. It shouldn’t be this complicated, Hajime knows. A proper boyfriend will support his partner with smiles and pats on the back and rubs when he got home from another beating.

But after nights of constant wondering, of watching the news with unhealthy devotion, of the low voice at the back of his head asking him if maybe this is it, the night Hajime will watch his lover die on TV, Hajime can’t be a supportive boyfriend. He doesn’t even know what support looks like, because the simple thought of the word brings him dread and anger. Hajime wishes he could learn how to brush Oikawa’s bruises and Oikawa’s hero complex under the carpet, but he has never been one to ignore the big, red elephant in the room.

“And now you’re thinking again,” Oikawa murmurs, and leans back, his knees brushing the edge where Hajime’s against. “Don’t be mad.”

“Don’t ask me that.” Hajime sighs and lets go of Oikawa’s wrist. The hand hangs in the air for a little longer, as if Oikawa were pondering between grabbing Hajime or putting it back into the water. “I don’t want to be mad, but I can’t help it, okay? I care about you.”

“I know you do.”

“Really?” Hajime tries to catch Oikawa’s gaze, but the beautiful blush Hajime has put on his cheeks is now tainted with shame, and Oikawa has never been good at confronting Hajime when he’s ashamed. “Because sometimes it feels like you don’t really know how that looks like.”

“That’s mean.” There’s no teasing on his voice when Oikawa whispers that, and something twitches inside Hajime’s chest. “I know— I don’t want to make you suffer. That has never been my intention.”

Hajime huffs soundly enough to force Oikawa to lift his gaze. “Dumbass. If I thought you were torturing me consciously we wouldn’t be here.”

But the comforting words do nothing to ease the shadows in Oikawa’s eyes. “Why are you here.”

“Because I care about you.”

“If I make you go through so much shit,” Oikawa insists, the way his shoulders straighten and his eyelids narrow an obvious hint of his determination. “Why are you still here?”

The answer is easy, but the words get stuck on Hajime’s throat. Instead of the simple truth, he says, “I couldn’t leave you behind knowing me being here makes you happy.”

“Do I make you unhappy, Iwa–chan?” Oikawa hugs his knees and buries his chin on the hollow between them. He looks tense but bored, and he would have deceived Hajime if Hajime hadn’t been so in love with him.

“If you really don’t know the answer to that,” Hajime growls, “then you’re more stupid than I thought.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a smart—”

Hajime can’t hold it anymore. Oikawa’s words pretend to be confident and carefree and Hajime sees through his shit so perfectly well, the only thing left for him to do is lean forward and kiss his lies away.

Oikawa moans softly, a bit of pain, a bit of pleasure. Hajime inhales deeply, filling himself with Oikawa’s scent, the smell of shampoo, the warmth of the water. He moves his lips over Oikawa’s, a soft knowing caress, and Oikawa melts against it. Hajime brings his hand to Oikawa’s jaw and cups his head, and when his lips part to let his tongue tap at Oikawa’s kiss, the low rumble in Oikawa’s throat makes Hajime sigh with content.

It’s languid and lazy, the way their mouths work each other. Hajime’s the first to slip his tongue inside, and Oikawa lets himself be kissed for a while, enjoying the power of Hajime’s care, of Hajime’s love. Oikawa has his arms still around his knees, but he leans towards the wall of the bathtub until he’s completely against it, his fingers grabbing it with strength enough to crack it.

“Relax,” Hajime whispers on his lips. “I won’t be able to explain it if you destroy my bathtub.”

“Sorry,” Oikawa follows Hajime when he moves back, as if chasing his mouth. “Where are you going? Come back here.”

Hajime chuckles as he stands. “Be patient, would you. I don’t wanna dirty my clothes.”

Oikawa watches him like a kid watching a marvelous window display. He rests his chin on the bathtub, and hums with appreciation when Hajime takes off his shirt and folds it before leaving it on the toilet.

“Iwa–chan is so pretty.”

Oh, damn. Hajime halts halfway to turn around, the rush of those sudden words sending rivers of flames through his body. He can already feel a blush crawling up his neck, and he frowns at Oikawa when he hears him giggle.

“Shut up.”

“Iwa–chan is so pretty and so handsome and so beautiful when he’s embarrassed,” Oikawa purrs, and laughs loud and cheery when Hajime sends his way a murderous gaze. The sound of Oikawa’s enjoyment is vibrating through Hajime’s cells, making them clack, bringing goosebumps to his skin.

He’s not even thinking when he tears his pants off and shoves them on Oikawa’s still laughing face. The shriek it earns him is enough to put a smug smile on his lips.

The pants fall on the floor with a heavy wet thud, and Hajime shakes his head softly, smile still in place, when Oikawa rests his chin on his hands over the edge of the bathtub.

“Are you happy?” Hajime asks with a growl, more pretence than genuine irritation.

With no answer, Oikawa’s eyes draw Hajime’s naked flesh, a silent path from Hajime’s rising chest to his still covered crotch, to his quivering thighs. Oikawa’s ogles are so intense Hajime has to bite his tongue to not moan out loud.

“I am very happy, Iwa–chan,” Oikawa musters softly, the heat of his gaze completely lost on the honesty of his words.

It undoes Hajime on the spot. Oikawa’s want is a film on his brown, warm eyes, but it’s the shy honesty of his words what hits Hajime the hardest. Here is Oikawa Tooru, a man who spends his nights fighting crime, getting himself beaten to preserve other people’s lives, and he’s unable to stare up at Hajime with the absolute certainty he’s allowed to be happy, here. He’s allowed to _want_ to be happy, here, and now, and whenever and wherever.

Hajime has his boxers off and is getting in the bathtub before Oikawa registers what’s happening.

“What— Iwa–chan! You’re stepping on me!”

“Then move,” Hajime grabs Oikawa’s ankles and pulls, a bit too harshly. The sound of Oikawa’s ass sliding through the bathtub’s bottom is loud and nasty and Hajime cackles at the nice red it puts on Oikawa’s cheeks. “Oikawa—”

“Don’t you dare make fun of me!” Oikawa leans forward, trying to open space enough at his back so Hajime can sit there. “I hate you,” he grunts when Hajime steps dangerously around him to sit where Oikawa was sitting a second ago.

It takes some more water spilling and weird body wiggles for Hajime to fit his body on the bathtub and Oikawa’s body against his. Hajime sighs, resting his head on the wall, the warmth of Oikawa’s silky skin between his thighs and against his crotch a nice familiar feeling.

The water’s not as warm as it was before, but Hajime can’t bring himself to complain. His lazy gaze follows the marks on Oikawa’s back, the shadows of his shoulder blades covered in wounds already healing. Thoughtlessly, Hajime caresses the lines of Oikawa’s muscles with his finger, a ghostly touch that earns him a shudder, Oikawa trembling under it.

“Are you okay?” Hajime asks hoarsely. Oikawa only nods, and pushes his shoulders forward, growing the distance between their bodies. “Oi. I’m cold, stop going so far.”

Oikawa sends him a pissed look over his shoulder, and without much care, he pushes his ass hard against Hajime’s crotch, making him growl.

“Really?”

Oikawa sighs loudly, and with deliberate slowness, he leans back, until he’s glued to Hajime’s chest. Hajime has his arms around him in a second, pushing Oikawa further against him. Oikawa breathes in, and Hajime kisses the back of his ear.

They stay like that for a bit, Hajime’s arms a blanket for Oikawa’s shivering muscles. Oikawa only needs a minute to relax and melt on Hajime’s welcoming frame, his legs against the opposite wall, his head beside Hajime’s. They tangle their fingers and watch them move in silence, the warmth of the water soothing the wounds in Oikawa’s flesh and the fears in Hajime’s soul.

“It’s nice here,” Oikawa musters sometime after, so low Hajime wouldn’t have heard him hadn’t him been glued to his back. “I love being with you, Iwa–chan.”

“Yeah?” Oikawa nods softly. “I love being with you too, you know? You’re an idiot if you ever doubt that.”

Hajime can almost see the smile in Oikawa’s lips, when he says, “I don’t doubt that. Mostly. I know—” Oikawa moans in discomfort by his own thoughts, and nudges his nose on Hajime’s jaw before he continues. “I’m sorry for being this boyfriend.”

“What boyfriend?”

“The _I fight for the good of the world_ boyfriend.”

Hajime’s teasing falls from his voice when he tightens his hug and says, “Tooru, I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Oikawa shudders at that, and his lips follow his nose when he kisses Hajime’s artery. Hajime closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of Oikawa’s warm mouth, the guilt of his movements a shadow in the sweet feeling of him, but a truth Hajime’s not in the mood to ignore.

“Sometimes you do, don’t you,” Oikawa whispers so low Hajime needs a second to make out the words.

“The only thing I would change,” Hajime says with low and slowly intent, “are your wounds. And my presence. I want you less hurt, not different.”

“I don’t want you hurt at all.”

Hajime growls, because saying something else will only add to an infinite discussion none of them will ever win. Hajime doesn’t have a special skill that makes him super human, whereas Oikawa will always be a step above him in the genetic chain of things. It doesn’t bother Hajime, but sometimes he wishes he could create a shield to protect Oikawa, no matter special skills or damned superpowers.

Instead of saying it, Hajime locks his fingers under Oikawa’s chin and lifts him softly from his shoulder. Oikawa meets his eyes with a small wrinkle on his frown, his lips pressed together as if he were expecting a reprimand to his words.

Hajime brushes his chin, the hollow under his mouth, his lower lip when Oikawa parts them to breathe. It feels like a magnet to Hajime’s attention, the way Oikawa’s mouth shapes under Hajime’s touch. The sudden thought there’s nothing in the world that would make Hajime want to be anywhere else but here crosses his mind, and fearing it’s strong enough to show on his eyes, he saves the distance and kisses Oikawa.

It starts slow, Hajime’s eyes half open, drinking every shift on Oikawa’s expression. The taut of Oikawa’s muscles is a tale of broken skin and shaken spirit, and trying to treat both gently, Hajime ghostly touches Oikawa’s open mouth.

“Iwa–chan…” Oikawa musters, his broken lip a reminder of the fragility of this steel man’s strength. Hajime waits for Oikawa to word his wants, but when the pet name lingers between them both, its meaning changes.

Oikawa’s not calling Hajime’s attention, he’s pleading for his absolute existence. He’s thanking the gods or destiny or the red string of fate for bringing them together. Hajime has never loved hearing his own name as much as he loves hearing it this way, so simple, so charged, so impossibly heavy it’s almost tangible.

Hajime deepens the kiss. Oikawa moans on his mouth, a soft cry that shakes Hajime to the core when he takes his lower lip and bites it softly. Although the position is uncomfortable and Hajime would rather have Oikawa completely glued to his skin, the way their tongues meet, their mouths move, their skins collide talks of desperation and need.

“Tooru…” Hajime groans, his hands traveling through Oikawa’s chest and waist and hips. The bruises scratch his fingers, his iron muscles a beautiful pattern under his skin. “Gods, I want you so much.”

“I want you all the time,” Oikawa gasps, kissing Hajime again. He somehow manages to turn around, kneeling between Hajime’s open thighs. “You make me feel alive.”

Hajime buries his fingers on Oikawa’s wet hair and pushes it back, clearing his expression. The pale skin is silk under his touch, Oikawa’s rich brown eyes a map of emotions and unworded needs. They look large and full on Oikawa’s face, the soft brush of red and purple on his cheek framing the gleam of fear Hajime can read on his pupils.

His hand cups Oikawa’s jaw. Hajime grunts softly when Oikawa leans on the touch and closes his eyes, a cat reaching for his wanted caress. Hajime feels overwhelmed by how fragile Oikawa looks between his thighs, his face calm and clear of anything taunting now that he’s finally resting against Hajime’s hand.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hajime musters, thoughtless. “I could spend my life watching you.”

Oikawa’s lips twitch, the pleased smile a soft tick on the tips of his mouth. Hajime’s thumb caresses its corner, as if he were trying to steal the beginning of that smile, as if he wanted to touch the exact feeling of Oikawa being happy and content and safe.

“Iwa–chan has a voyeur kink,” Oikawa giggles, leaning forward, his hands on Hajime’s thighs.

Hajime frowns. His hand moves to Oikawa’s nape and holds his wet hair with tender harshness, and Oikawa laughs again. “Not funny. I was giving you a compliment.”

“Iwa–chan is beautiful too,” Oikawa whispers against his lips, the smile shaping them wide and bright and covering all the bruises on his body, that immense it is. “Can I kiss you, Iwa–chan?”

“If you have to ask, then no.”

Oikawa kisses him with a smile on his lips, and Hajime answers him eagerly. Maybe a bit too hard, maybe a bit too intense, for Oikawa ends up laughing into Hajime’s lungs, when the only thing Hajime wants is to kiss him senseless.

“Kiss me properly, you jerk,” Hajime grunts, his hands trying to grab Oikawa’s flesh and keep him in place, but afraid of hurting him more than he already is. “Your teasing sucks.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Oikawa purrs. “Sex in a bathtub is pretty complicated, isn’t it.”

Hajime arches an eyebrow, and before Oikawa can elaborate, he lets his hand fall between Oikawa’s legs and fists him. Oikawa gasps, and Hajime feels a different warmth filling his body, nothing to do with the hot water. “You were saying?”

Oikawa rocks his hips, unbidden, his beautiful and bruised mouth red and swollen by Hajime’s love and by someone else’s hate, a picture of contradiction that, in the blur of heat and hard flesh, Hajime can’t but find perfectly fitting.

“I meant—” Oikawa gapes when Hajime strokes him slowly under the water, Oikawa involuntarily opening his legs to give him more room. “I want to— I want to straddle you.”

Hajime groans, suddenly aware of his own cock, pulsating in attention. Because his hands are too occupied with Oikawa’s body, he just lets it swell on the water and moves his hand faster, tearing a low moan from Oikawa’s lips.

“Iwa–chan…” Gods, Hajime could live out of the sound of his pet name. It’s a caress and a rough kiss and a tender hug and a mind-blowing fucking session. Oikawa has such power over Hajime’s body that with such a simple word, he can undo him.

Before he can say something cheesy and corny and all too embarrassing, Hajime pushes Oikawa against him again, the hand on Oikawa’s nape a trap keeping him glued to Hajime’s mouth.

It’s filthy and rough and needy, the kiss Hajime gives Oikawa this time. There’s no space for slow and caring, what with Hajime stroking Oikawa’s cock and rocking his own against Oikawa’s stomach’s iron muscles. Oikawa tumbles forward and grabs Hajime’s shoulders, his fingers digging on his flesh and probably leaving marks there that will last forever.

Hajime tries to make more room for Oikawa between his legs, bending his knees. Water splash against the floor of the bathroom when they move, and then Hajime has his hand around his cock and Oikawa’s cock, the grip around them both as harsh as it is fast. Oikawa’s kissing Hajime between moans and whimpers and pants and gasps, and Hajime watches him from below, his mouth open to accept anything Oikawa will be so kind to give him.

And he does give Hajime so much, just kneeling there, with his cock throbbing and thrusting against his own, on his hand. He’s unabashed and undone and he moves his body as if meeting Hajime’s would save his soul. The way his head falls back, taunting the beautiful lines of his neck. The way he opens his eyes half-way, trying to catch Hajime’s gaze and give himself whole.

“Iwa–chan, Iwa–chan, _Iwa–chan_.” Hajime wants to record his voice, one step from coming, and listen to it until the sound is forever engraved in his memory. “Make it harder,” he mouthes, more a low moan than a word itself.

Hajime grunts lowly, the echo of his own voiced need filling the bathroom. The water hitting the walls and the floor is uneven and loud, and it hits Hajime’s arousal like a hammer. The mix of the bath following their needs’ lead, the meaningless sounds coming out of Oikawa’s mouth, the low rumble of want in Hajime’s chest. It’s an orchestra, and because Oikawa has always been its director, Hajime’s doomed to answer to his demands.

His hand speeds up, his fingers closing almost painfully around them both. Oikawa’s cook feels hard and hot and perfect against Hajime’s, Oikawa’s mumbling a caress on it’s own. Hajime watches him reach higher and higher, the stutters on his hips the first indication he’s close.

“Tooru,” Hajime growls, not sure why he’s calling his attention. Oikawa whimpers, and his hips thrust harder against him. “Tooru, I’m gonna fuck your brains out when we get out of here.”

“ _Ughngf,_ ” Oikawa moans, his nails leaving crescent-shaped moons on Hajime’s skin. “How?”

“You’re gonna straddle me first,” Hajime pants, his hand stroking both their reasonings away. He’s not even sure of what he’s saying anymore, although the image of his own words is like a movie on his mind, getting him even harder. “I’m gonna lay down and you’re gonna sit on my cock and you’re gonna fuck yourself with it until I tell you to stop.”

Oikawa whimpers, grabbing Hajime’s nape and pushing him against his chest. Hajime licks and bites, and Oikawa’s cock feels like a pulsating bomb about to explode.

“And I won’t let you come yet. You’ll take my cock out and then you will go on your back, open your legs wide, and beg me to fuck you.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Oikawa pants, red all over. Hajime grunts against his skin, so close, so close, he just needs a bit more, a stroke more, a single taste more of Oikawa’s skin so he can— “Iwa–chan, fuck me.”

Hajime sucks on Oikawa’s neck, and then he bites him there, and before any of them know what’s happening, Hajime’s fist is stroking Oikawa’s cock through his orgasm, the water a map of white with Oikawa’s release. Oikawa tenses and moans, and Hajime’s panting harshly when Oikawa falls against him, his throbbing cock awfully aware of Oikawa’s warm skin, rubbing him.

“Tooru,” Hajime growls. “Do me. Please…”

Oikawa, still breathing shallowly, lazily moves his arm between their bodies and takes a hold of Hajime’s cock. Hajime inhales a sharp breath, and he’s already groaning in pleasure, at the doors of his orgasm, with Oikawa’s first stroke. Hajime can’t help himself when he grabs Oikawa’s hips with too much strength, not thinking of Oikawa’s bruises or Oikawa’s wounds. The only thing in his mind the touch of Oikawa’s hand, of his mouth on his neck, of how amazing Oikawa feels against him, bringing him over the edge.

Hajime comes with a groan, his hips rocking against Oikawa’s body, in Oikawa’s grip. His muscles twitch, his stomach clenches, and Hajime can feel every muscle moving under his fingers when Oikawa lets himself fall on Hajime’s chest again.

They pant in sync for a bit, the dirty water cold and finally silent. Hajime caresses the hollow of Oikawa’s spine, goosebumps on his skin due to the freezing air, but unable to move from under Oikawa’s warm body.

“Are you gonna do it for real?” Oikawa musters against Hajime’s shoulder.

“What?”

“Fuck me like you said.”

“Fuck yes.”

Oikawa chuckles, and then sighs happily. Hajime can’t help himself when, at the feeling of Oikawa’s muscles tightening to straighten himself, Hajime’s arms close around him and press him against his chest, not ready yet to let him go.

The pleased sound that leaves Oikawa’s lips is sweet and soft and Hajime kisses his cheek in answer. The smile plastered on Oikawa’s mouth is smug, but Hajime won’t say a thing about it. Although he’ll never say it out loud, that’s one of his favorites sights.

“Thanks,” Oikawa musters after a bit in Hajime’s embrace.

“For the hand-job?” Hajime sounds mocking.

Oikawa huffs. “ _You_ are welcome for the hand-job.” Hajime chuckles. “No, I meant— Thanks for being here.”

“Tooru.” Hajime waits until Oikawa lifts his eyes and meets his. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

The smug expression turns bright and joyful and honest and Hajime kisses the tip of his nose, unable to keep his mouth away from him. “Come on, let’s get out before we freeze to death.”

“And so you can fuck me.”

Hajime smirks. “And so I can fuck you.”

Oikawa’s ass is pale and perfectly shape and taut and the definition of Hajime’s most secret fantasies when he jumps out of the bathtub and runs to the bedroom, giggling so loud it echoes through the whole apartment.

Hajime shakes his head, his eyes never leaving Oikawa’s naked and dripping body. It doesn’t matter if it’s almost one in the morning, or the fading wounds in Oikawa’s skin, or the fact Hajime knows the lump on his throat, that one that tastes of fear and panic, will never really leave him.

Oikawa is here, happy and alive. He’s here because he chose Hajime, even in his life of hero and life-saving.

He’s here. And Hajime couldn’t be more grateful for it.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://negare-boshi.tumblr.com/)


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